


If at First

by CloudAtlas



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Blind Date, F/M, Miscommunication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-11-01 12:20:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17867159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloudAtlas/pseuds/CloudAtlas
Summary: Okay Barton, calm down. Be cool.Be cool.Written for the prompt:We’re both meant to be going on blind dates with other people but we sat down at the wrong table and got our hopes up.





	If at First

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gsparkle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gsparkle/gifts).



> Written as part of the be_compromised Valentines Mini Promptathon. Unbeta'd (for now).

Clint’s, like, five minutes late, which for him is practically being on time, but he’s regretting every late minute because  _holy shit_.  
  
Kate had set him up on a blind date. He had been irritated right up until this precise moment, when he’s clapped eyes on this Bobbi, who was, apparently, the hottest woman ever. Even if they didn’t hit it off hopefully he’d at least get a filthy hot one night stand with her because holy hell, would it be worth it.  
  
Okay Barton, calm down. Be cool.  _Be cool_.  
  
She fucking perks up as soon as she sees him walking over. This is going to be  _great_.  
  
“Bobbi?” Clint asks as he approaches the table, thanking all deities everywhere that he’d settled on his kickass leather jacket.  
  
The woman’s face falls and Clint’s heart falls with it.  
  
“No,” she answers and then, like she’s hoping she’s still wrong, she says, “Danny?”  
  
This can’t be happening. This is so unfair. How can it be that there are two women in here that fit the description of ‘red top and black jeans’?  
  
“No,” Clint answers with an awkward shrug. There’s a long silence where they sort of just stare mournfully at each other. Then Clint finally asks, “Blind date?”  
  
“Yeah,” Not-Bobbi replies. “You?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Well,” Not-Bobbi says after another awkward silence, “Good luck?”  
  
He doesn’t want to leave, not even a little bit. But he should at least find this Bobbi seeing as he’s here now. Plus, standing people up is always shitty and even if Bobbi’s not a kick-ass looking redhead she deserves better than Clint being a dick. He gives Not-Bobbi one final unsubtle once-over before casting around for another woman with wearing a red top with black jeans.  
  
  
Actual Bobbi, it turns out, is blonde and cute and makes Clint laugh. She’s a biology lecturer at NYU and in comparison Clint feels painfully aware of his less-than-impressive academic career and job working at a gym. Not that Bobbi is anything other than interested and interesting, but it doesn’t take long for either of them to acknowledge that, while they could very easily become very good friends, they’re not really what the other is looking for in a potential partner.   
  
They pass a pleasant evening eating tiramisu and walking in the local park regardless, and Clint gets her number with a promise to meet up for drinks the next time the Jets are playing, but he still walks to the subway station on his own at the end of the night.  
  
Only to find Not-Bobbi standing at the entrance, jabbing angrily at her phone.  
  
“Uh,” Clint says stupidly. “Hi again?”  
  
Not-Bobbi looks up from her phone and Clint has the overwhelming urge to smooth away the wrinkle between her brows with the pad of his thumb. He resists, but only by balling his hands in his jacket pockets.  
  
“Oh, hello. Was Bobbi nice?”  
  
Clint shrugs. “Yeah, I guess. As a friend though. What about your Danny?”

Not-Bobbi scowls. “Shit. He was half an hour late, a bit of a dick and was less hot that you.”  
  
Clint stares at her. “I’m sorry?”  
  
“Not your fault,” Not-Bobbi dismisses with a wave of her hand. “I guess not everyone can be as hot as you.”  
  
Clint guppies unattractively.  
  
“How do you feel about pizza? I can’t go home because my roommate is fucking his boyfriend right about now and I’ve only rage-eaten a disappointing salad. I deserve pizza.”  
  
“You wanna get pizza?” Clint clarifies. “With me?”  
  
“You want me to take someone else?” Not-Bobbi’s arched eyebrow is a thing of beauty.  
  
“No!” Clint says, far too quickly. “I’ll come. I love pizza.”  
  
Jesus Christ Barton.  _I love pizza_? Be more lame, why don’t you.  
  
“Good.” Not-Bobbi says, clearly uncaring of his shitty conversational technique and giving him a onceover so blatant he’s actually kinda proud of her. “I’m Natasha by the way.”  
  
“Clint,” Clint supplies, allowing a small smirk to creeps its way across his face.  
  
“Nice to meet you Clint.” Natasha points a threating finger at him. “Be better than shit Danny.”  
  
Clint grins. “Yes, ma’am.”

**Author's Note:**

> Ever since reading the Iron Fist run illustrated by David Aja, those mistaking-Clint-for-Iron-Fist jokes have become extra hilarious to me.


End file.
